


Run Away With Me

by Insertpoetryhere



Series: The Greatest Grief of All [1]
Category: Frühlings Erwachen | Spring Awakening - Frank Wedekind, Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Description of Moritz's suicide can be seen as pretty graphic, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Martha has a little sister, Modern Era, No beta we die like Moritz, Suicide, please be careful reading this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:48:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25948330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insertpoetryhere/pseuds/Insertpoetryhere
Summary: Martha wasn’t like Moritz. Martha thought through things before she let them come out of her mouth. Martha made plans before she even thought about acting. She walked where he would have ran.Yes, she could have called out for him to wait. But Moritz Stiefel never would wait. Sometimes she was convinced that no one ever taught him how.
Relationships: Martha Bessell/Moritz Stiefel
Series: The Greatest Grief of All [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1883284
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Run Away With Me

Martha remembered that night vividly. Her parents had been out, some outing that had been planned last minute by the Rilows after church. They had been gone for a few hours when she heard someone pull into the driveway.

Her first thought was that her parents must have returned earlier than expected, and she was in the process of shoving the pizza she had ordered into a good hiding spot when she heard a knock on the door.

Martha looked to the front door, taking a cautious step forward and peeking out of the window into the driveway. There was an old pick-up truck parked, with the headlights still shining in through the window. Martha smiled to herself, recognising the truck. It was Moritz’s, he had bought it himself just a few months ago. It had needed some work, and sometimes it took a few tries to start it. Martha could recall the various times Moritz had whispered a prayer to whoever was listening before putting the key into the ignition.

Martha opened the door, still grinning. Moritz was not. He looked disheveled, wearing the white button up of his school uniform as a thin jacket over an old, faded band shirt. A green hoodie was thrown over that, but it wasn’t a very effective way to fight off the cold of that night in early spring. His jeans were grass stained, and his shoes were as beat up as always. The area around his eyes were puffy and red, like he had been crying.

Martha moved over, trying to show him without words that he was welcomed to come in. He didn’t move, he just stood there fiddling with the keys in his hand.

“What’s wrong? I didn’t see you at church today, did something-” Martha stepped out onto the porch to join him. Looking closer, she saw the bruise on his cheekbone, and another forming on his neck.

(She would remember them later, when there was no longer any sign of them, and wonder if she should have asked about them).

Her boyfriend just stood there for a few seconds, and she could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. He glanced over to the closed door. “Are your parents home?”

Martha shook her head. “No, they’re out for the night. Why, what’s-”

“I failed.” He said it fast before taking a shaky breath and saying it once again, slower. “I… failed.”

Martha didn’t know what to say. “Moritz, I’m sorry... “ She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him into a hug. He tensed up before melting into it. She thought he might cry, but he seemed to have just run out of tears. 

“I-” He started to talk, reluctantly pulling away. “I’m leaving.”

At first she didn’t understand. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t stay, I-” He looked at her, fiddling with the hem of his jacket. “How fast can you pack a bag?”

Martha once again didn’t know what she was supposed to say. So instead of talking, she laughed. She shook her head. “You can’t be serious.”

“My bag is already in the truck, I have the GPS set for a motel near the french border. If we leave now, we can be gone by morning.” He said it with conviction “My bank account is drained and the car is running, we can just go!”

“What about school?” She asked. “What about money, or food? Where are we even going?”

“Wherever we want!” Moritz threw his hands up,and Martha saw that they were shaking. “You said you’ve always wanted to see paris. We could be there tomorrow!”

Martha shook her head again. “We can’t just leave, We don’t have a plan. And what about my little sister? I can’t just leave her here-”

“Bring her with!” Moritz said. “Her carseat is in the garage, right? I can get it while you go wake her up and pack.”

“And what’s your plan for the kidnapping charge we’ll face?” Martha pointed out. “We can’t just leave. There’s… we can’t.”

“Why not?” Moritz asked, taking a step towards the stairs, ready to take off at any moment. He never knew how to slow down. “Because they said we can’t?”

“Who are you even talking about?” Martha demanded, her voice raising.

Moritz turned away from her and made a wild gesture to the world beyond the porch. “Them! They can’t just- They won’t-”

He fell silent, and Martha watched as his shoulders tensed and fell, like he wanted to scream but couldn’t figure out how to make the noise. Martha took a step forward and put her hand on his shoulder. He relaxed, and his hand seemed to float towards where hers was pressing little circles into his skin. He laid his hand and the two sank down and sat on the steps.

Martha took her other hand and gently pulled his head back so that he was leaning against her chest. She rested her chin on the top of his head and occasionally shifted her position to give him a kiss on the temple.

(She wondered if that is what gave him the idea).

“We can wait a few months,” She whispered to him. “We can make plans, and when summer rolls around we can leave. But not yet.”

“We don’t-” Moritz stopped, his breathing growing shakier. “I don’t have a few months. If we’re going to go, it has to be tonight. It has to be now.”

“Why?” Martha didn’t want to sound demanding, but she didn’t succeed. Moritz pulled away, refusing to look her in the eye.

“I’m leaving.” He said. “One way or another, I won’t be here in the morning.”

That hurt her. She pulled back too. “Then why don’t you do it? Just leave, if that’s so important to you.”

“I want you to come with me.” He pleaded. “Please, I- I know what he does to you! I want you to just get in the car and we can leave! No one will hurt us again, we can just go!”

Martha didn’t know why, but she felt her chest tighten. She looked away and stood up. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, I do.” He insisted. “And you know it.”

She had to fight away the tears, and for a moment she entertained the notion. Packing up her bag, grabbing her little sister right out of her bed. Leaving a note on the newsboard in town, a tell-all of life in the Bessell household, and leaving before she can be swept up in the chaos that the truth would bring. A life with Moritz, where they get the perfect fantasy ending. 

But life is never that generous.

“I love you.” He said. And if they both hadn’t been so caught up in the painful silence of the moments before then they might have realized that this was the first time he had ever said it.

“Is there anything I can say,” Her voice trembled as she spoke. “That could convince you to stay?”

There were a few more seconds of silence. “No.”

Moritz stood up and turned to face her. There were tears rolling down his cheeks as he leaned in to kiss her. She didn’t kiss back.

(She wished she had. She had thought that she would get a chance to again one day. Nothing was final yet).

He pulled back, not daring to look her in the eyes. “Please. Tell me what I can do to get you to come with.”

“Why?” Martha knew she sounded cold. 

“Because the plan changes if you aren’t in it.” He said it so simply. “I don’t want to… I don’t want to leave you like that.”

(Something was wrong when he said that. Why didn’t she stop him?)

“... Will you ever come back?” She asked the wrong question.

“I can’t.” He said it too casually. “If I go like that, I can’t come back.”

She didn’t know what he meant. “Can I follow you? When I’m ready, can I meet you there?”

He took her hand and squeezed it tight. “You won’t be ready for a long time.” He said through tears. “But sure. Just take your time, ok?”

Something was wrong. “Where are you going?”

He refused to answer, and Martha dismissed the fear that had tried to snake it’s way up her spine. She would see him again. There was no way he could just hop in the car and leave her like this.

“Then you better get going.” She said, trying not to let him know that she was crying. “Wouldn’t want to keep you.”

Moritz started to walk away, but turned back around to look at her. “I love you.” He said it again, and this time she heard it.

“I…” She was crying now, far too much for her to hide. Still, she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth in hopes that it would help her cause. The words “I love you” died right at the tip of her tongue, and the only one who could hear it was her.

She wanted to go with him. It wasn’t too late, she could call out to him and tell him to wait just a few more minutes. But she knew that a few minutes would turn into an hour. And it would eventually turn into a day. Martha wasn’t like Moritz. Martha thought through things before she let them come out of her mouth. Martha made plans before she even thought about acting. She walked where he would have ran. 

Yes, she could have called out for him to wait. But Moritz Stiefel never would wait. Sometimes she was convinced that no one ever taught him how.

She turned around, refusing to watch as his truck pulled out of the driveway. He drove away, and there was still a part of Martha that thought maybe he would come back one day.

Moritz was true to his word. He was long gone by morning. With a bullet lodged into his brain and his face bashed in by the shallow, rocky ravine that he fell into for good measure.

His mother had called for a search party to look for her son after he didn’t come home. And when the group of community members heard a loud bang, followed a few minutes later by the screams of Ilse Neumann, they all knew it was over.

It had been Ilse who told her, falling to her knees on the porch that he had sat on just a few hours before.

Martha didn’t cry. She just leaned down and held Ilse, as if letting another sad and lonely soul leave her sight would result in the same kind of pain. 

She didn’t cry until a search of Moritz’s car turned up a letter addressed to her in smudged and messy ballpoint pen.

She didn’t even open it. She just took it from the officer’s hands and held it to her chest. The sobs came in like the aftershocks of an earthquake, violently shaking her body as she clung tighter to all that she had left.

There was a void in their small town. A void in the universe that it seemed very few people could even feel. As if the sun had been eaten by a black hole, and everyone else continued about their day as if nothing had happened.

Martha was sitting in his beat up truck, scanning each line as if it would give her answers. All it said was that it wasn’t her fault, that he loved her, that he didn’t want to-

It ended abruptly there. The pen seemed to have veered off course and the letter ended in the middle of a sentence. Ilse said that Moritz had been writing something when she knocked on the window. This must have been it.

It seemed appropriate. Sitting in this truck, with Moritz’s packed bag tucked under the passenger seat and the GPS still set to a motel near the French border. 

She would have to leave soon. Technically speaking, she wasn’t supposed to be here. But she had managed to convince the cop taking her statement to give her just a few minutes alone.

She thought about what Moritz would do. She thought about how if she were him, sitting in this car ready to go, she wouldn’t hesitate. If it were him sitting here, with the keys in his hand and her sitting next to him with her bags packed, there would be nothing stopping him. Nothing holding him back. He would just drive.

And then her five minute timer on her phone went off, and Martha Bessell had to come to terms with the fact that that would never be her.


End file.
